Instinct
by zyrea
Summary: Harry had always listened to his gut instinct. Right now, that instinct was telling him that Goodwin was trouble. He wasn't about to lets his friends suffer even more though. Darkish Harry, implied character death.


Warning: implied murder

Instinct

Years of flying in and out of trouble had made Harry trust his gut instinct. He had long given up on being able to stick to any sort of plan. Life never worked out if he tried to think ahead, but playing it by ear always seemed to work out, so the most forethought Harry ever gave anything was what to make for dinner. Planning ahead also didn't really favour gut instinct, something else the brunette wizard had come to rely on greatly in life.

Instinct had told him not to fight too hard when he was sucked into the Veil. Instinct had told him not to curse out the overgrown lizard in the sky when he'd found out he was stuck (Harry would like to think it was common sense, after all, the Crimson Dragon was apparently a god here, and throwing curses at deities was akin to waving a sword in a thunderstorm, but deep down he knew that this hadn't even factored in at the time). Instinct had also pushed him to help Yusei out, and to tag along later, and that was probably the best move he'd ever made. At least he wasn't wandering around useless anymore, and this time it wasn't him that had to be the 'beacon of Light'. It was a plus that he genuinely liked everyone involved, even Jack.

Now, standing in Rex Goodwin's mansion, listening to the man going on about saving the world or whatever, Harry was fighting very hard not to gut the bastard. The brunette had tuned him out a while ago, and had taken to studying the odd alter/staircase thing before them. Honestly, it had been hard enough getting in there, and it was only by claiming to be Miss Akiza's escort/retainer that he had been allowed in, and by the skin of his teeth at that ("Miss Akiza cannot be allowed in such company unattended sir, it would be highly improper. Should you force the issue we shall be forced to leave." So maybe the lessons in pureblood bastardry had been worth something after all, it wasn't like Andromeda would ever find out).

Goodwin had rubbed Harry the wrong way from the moment the wizard laid eyes on him. The man looked like a cheap Malfoy, acted like a cheap Malfoy, and talked like a half-assed Dumbledore. If that didn't scream 'doom and destruction' then Harry was a genius duellist. Really, 'Chosen Signers', 'fate of the world', 'fewer sacrifices', it was like listening to the old headmaster talk as if he hadn't planned the speech.

Harry snapped back to the present as the white-haired man left. There was silence save for the crackle of flames. Harry's companions all looked drawn and worried, and even Jack appeared to have had a weight dropped onto his shoulders. Glancing over everyone, Harry took note of the twins clinging to each other, and Akiza had wrapped her arms around herself. Green eyes finally settled on Yusei, to see worry, uncertainty and guilt warring in blue eyes. And Harry felt angry.

"Bed." The order slipped out before Harry could hold it back. Everyone jumped and stared at him, but he just lifted an eyebrow in response.

"You're not getting anything done right now. It's late, and you need rest and time to think. Goodwin can handle having a few guests for the night." Harry had to swallow the foul taste at letting his new friends stay anywhere near here, but they were in no condition to traipse back across the city, and maybe he could deal with the white/grey haired man on the sly...

Leo was the first to move, dragging his sister out the door. Jack followed after, then Akiza. Yusei and Harry were left alone together, staring at one another. Harry didn't lower his eyebrow, and upgraded his glare (stolen from Nott Jr., Snape had nothing mild enough) to challenging. The other brunette finally turned and walked out, leaving Harry at the foot of the altar.

"Hmm, what to do, what to do... Dark Signers on one hand, they're already dead though, so that should be easy enough to deal with, but there's no way to keep that quiet is there? On the other, there's Malfoy-lite..."

Harry wandered closer to the altar, but moved out of the ring of light cast by the shadows. The wizard breathed in as he thought, muttering fading as magic took over. He stood in darkness, eyes nearly closed and sank past his own core into the dark, cold, endless expanse of _final, end, Inevitable. _Slowly, gradually, a whisper of death spread out across the city and beyond, snuffing out light, easing through the old and terminally ill, until it found those its master sought. Death brushed over them, barely a kiss, but pulled back before they could fall. This was not a matter of ending, but stolen subjects. The master wished to devote more attention to them, and one in particular seemed special...

As the cold finality rolled back to Harry and settled down into the back of his mind, the wizard tilted his head. Green eyes glowed deathlike at the base of the now-dark steps. The glow faded, and the brunette felt a momentary brush along his consciousness that tasted of age, and power and just barely of firestorms before it retreated. The presence was familiar, and Harry took the lack of intervention as permission.

Shoulders back and smirk in place, Harry glided back into the house. The Dark Signers could be dealt with easily, but they were not of immediate concern. "_Later," _the lingering presence of Death, not fully sentient but enough to be of use, whispered. "_They are ours, marked, we can find them again, later. Now we have a new ending." _And Harry listened, because Death was far older than he, for all that it was bound, and it had not taken long for the Inevitable to become entwined with the once-Saviour's instinct.

The wizard strolled silently through dark halls, following the stench of greed, and corruption, and bleach. A hand curled around the elder wood handle of a sharp, thin knife. There would be no hesitation, no regrets, only silence and small smiles. Goodwin's loss would be wondered at, despaired over even, but it was an acceptable loss.

Slipping through a door and into an ornate bedroom, Harry didn't pause once. He could still see the fear, and the weight of the world as it fell on their shoulders. They were his friends, the Light and hope of the future. They would never accept this, accept death as a solution, but they didn't have to know.

The smile never left Harry's face as he headed back to the wing that had been assigned as their quarters. There would be a fallout in the morning, but events would run much more smoothly from now on. No point in planning ahead, everything would work out. He wasn't there to play Light hero, or to lead the way. No, Harry just tagged along and made sarcastic comments, and the odd suggestion while Yusei and his friends saved the day in a mostly non-traumatising and socially acceptable way. And while they were off being real heroes, Harry could take care of the loose ends, and play the Shadow to their Light. Someone had to do the dirty work, after all, and it wasn't like Harry didn't have practice with blood and death and darkness. It suited him better these days, And who needed to know anyway?

Besides, he would have killed the bleached bastard anyway. He'd seen the despair in blue eyes. No one upset Yusei like that. No one.

XxXx

Short and a bit sloppy, but I just finished an essay on Nietzschian philosophy and needed to write something that wouldn't cause (more) brain leakage.

Harry feels a bit inconsistent, so I may end up revising it later. He also sounds very stalkerish...

Happy (late) New Year


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